


Be Fearless

by Elsajeni



Category: Lucha Underground
Genre: Being Walked In On, First Time, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Making Out, Season/Series 01, locker room makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/pseuds/Elsajeni
Summary: "Okay, what?" he demands, unable to stop himself. "Are we playing a game? Is this a dominance thing?"No answer. Of course. He doesn't know what he was expecting.This is stupid, a warning voice in his head notes, but he ignores it, grins tightly and goes on, "Or are you putting on a show for me?"





	1. Be Fearless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr askbox prompt: "Johnny Mundo and Prince Puma get caught making out despite 'not being together,'" sent by [fogbreaker](http://fogbreaker.tumblr.com).
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://elsajeni.tumblr.com/post/161876924900/johnny-mundo-and-prince-puma-get-caught-making-out) on my tumblr.

It's getting crowded in the locker room as the roster grows; especially at times like this, when half of them are trying to work out at once, everyone is on top of each other and in each other's space. So it's not really a surprise, the first time Johnny turns around to swap out dumbbells, that he about trips over Puma leaving the squat rack.

It's a little more surprising, five minutes later, when Puma backs straight into him as he's looking for an empty space to do some shrugs in. And fifteen minutes after that, the crowd gradually thinning out, when they both go for the same bench at the same time.

By the time the locker room is empty except for the two of them, and Puma is _still_ somehow underfoot at every turn, he's starting to feel slightly persecuted. _Like he's not distracting enough_ , he grouses silently to himself, then shakes his head, backs off as far as he can and sits down on the furthest bench to do concentration curls.

And looks up to find Puma on the pull-up bar barely two feet away.

"Okay, what?" he demands, unable to stop himself. "Are we playing a game? Is this a dominance thing?"

No answer. Of course. He doesn't know what he was expecting.

"It's my magnetic personality, right? You just want to be near me?"

Still no answer, but this time Puma stops what he's doing, drops down from the bar and turns to face him.

_This is stupid_ , a warning voice in his head notes, but he ignores it, grins tightly and goes on, "Or are you putting on a show for me?"

Puma takes a step closer, and Johnny finds his gaze drifting down over Puma's body, lingering on the curve of his triceps, the sheen of sweat on his inked chest. _Be Fearless_.

_Well, what the hell_ , he thinks, reaches up with his free hand, grabs Puma by the waist and pulls him down into his lap.

It'd be easy enough to play off as a joke, a kind of game of chicken, just the continuation of... whatever weird dominance game this is they've been playing. He half expects to get decked for his trouble, and fully expects Puma to shove away from him, jump back up and leave. And he's not surprised — Puma throws his right hand up as he's pulled off-balance, plants his palm flat against Johnny's chest, and he can feel the tension coiled in the arm behind it, ready to push him back.

And then he _is_ surprised, because Puma... doesn't move.

Johnny looks down at the hand resting on his chest, studies it for a second, then shifts his gaze up to Puma's face and feels his mouth go dry. Puma is staring down at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, and it's not always easy to read his face under the mask, but — whatever else he might be thinking, he hasn't pulled away.

Very carefully, very slowly, Johnny lets the dumbbell roll down his fingers to rest on the floor, straightens up, bringing his right hand up between their entwined legs to rest loosely on his own thigh. "I'm pretty sure everyone's gone but us," he says; in the silence of the empty locker room, it comes out louder than he meant it to, and he and Puma both start a little. He wets his lips and tries again, a little lower, "If I'm reading this wrong, tell me. But if I'm not, we're not gonna get a better chance."

A long moment passes, and then Puma nods, leans in toward him; Johnny grins, slides his hand around to the small of Puma's back, and pulls him the rest of the way in until their lips meet.

Puma kisses him softly, even a little cautiously at first; then he shifts his weight in Johnny's lap, seems to find his angle, and the kiss turns fierce, hungry, so forceful that it's an effort for Johnny not to tip backward right off the bench. He rallies, though, recovers his balance and returns the kiss with equal ferocity, lifting his right hand to Puma's hip and gripping him hard. In return Puma shifts his hand, too, slides it up Johnny's shoulder and around to the nape of his neck to tangle in his hair; his grip is light, but steady, and Johnny goes along willingly as Puma tilts his head back, breaks the kiss and mouths his way down Johnny's jawline to nip at the pulse point there. Johnny swallows a groan, reluctant to break the near-silence of the room; the only sound is Puma breathing hard against his throat, his own harsh panting—

— the click and squeak of the locker room door opening.

By the time he's processed the sound, Puma's already springing to his feet, launching himself full-force off Johnny's shoulders to do it; Johnny isn't expecting the shove, and this time he _does_ go over backward, and takes the bench down with him. He glances toward the door as he's trying to disentangle his legs from it, and barely holds back a curse — it's Cueto standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised as his gaze flicks from Johnny up to Puma and back again, all three of them frozen in place as the moment stretches on. He can't have seen much, Puma's fast reaction saw to that, but...

"Please," Cueto says at last, raising his hands palms-out toward them, "don't let me interrupt."

Johnny throws a quick glance at Puma, gets only an infinitesimal shrug in return; no help there. He turns his focus back to Cueto and, as casually as he can manage, starts, "Uh, you're not—"

"No, no," the boss cuts him off, "please — finish your, ah, workout. I'm locking up for the night, but security will be here to let you out." He's backing out the door as he says it, and for a moment Johnny thinks that maybe he really didn't see anything, that the suspicious little pause before _workout_ was his imagination.

Then Cueto flashes a sharp grin, just before the door closes on him, and adds, "It's good to see my fighters becoming such _good_ friends."


	2. Epilogue: Venganza

_Later, in another part of the temple..._

"So," Dario says, looking out the window of his office, his back to the fighter at his desk. "You want a shot at my championship."

In the reflection, he can see Cage jut his chin forward, all arrogance. "I've been saying so since the day I walked in here."

"And you've certainly been working hard for it." Dario stares out the window a little longer, drums his fingers on the sill, makes him wait for it. Then he turns, flashes a smile, and says, "It's yours. Next week."

Cage hasn't been at the temple long, but clearly he's learning; Dario has to stifle a laugh at the instant change in his face, from cocky pride to suspicion. "What's the catch?"

"Please, nothing like that. There is one little condition, but it's nothing — something I think you'll be happy to do for me." Dario reaches for a glass, pours, holds it out to Cage; when the big man shakes his head, he shrugs and takes a sip himself. He lets a slow, predatory smile spread across his face and goes on, "Make it painful."

Cage looks as if he wants to laugh. "That's it?"

"You know I am a man who loves violence. But from this match, I want more. I want brutality. I want _cruelty_." Dario gives a little shrug, takes another sip of his drink. "Not such a terrible catch, is it?"

Cage grins, and Dario recognizes the light in his eyes, the thirst for blood. "Consider it done."

Later, after he's seen Cage out, he stands at the window again, looking out at his temple and imagining the next week's scene. One hand drifts unconsciously up to his face; he brushes his fingertips across the ghost of a bruise on his cheek, and smiles.


End file.
